


A hazard to steel, cast iron and copper in all sorts of varying degrees

by Aproclivity



Series: Tumblr-inspired fics [1]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Alex can't cook but Strand can, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Thanksgiving Dinner, They have it bad for one another, assuming terry miles doesn't fuck shit up forever, takes place probably in season 3 after everything, this stupid fandom, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 08:45:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12250959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aproclivity/pseuds/Aproclivity
Summary: Alex Reagan is supposed to cook the annual Thanksgiving dinner for people who don't have anywhere else to go and doesn't go home because Canada. And of course, she's quite bad at it and fluff ensues.





	A hazard to steel, cast iron and copper in all sorts of varying degrees

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been started over a year ago and was inspired by a post on tumblr that I can't find about what a PNWS holiday would be like. But then life happened and now it's finally done. Thanks 303!

If Richard Strand was the kind of man who believed in ill omens, he might have had more than a little flash of one when the couple he was riding up in the elevator to Alex's floor had announced that this was the third time that the smoke detector had gone off already today. Casually checking his watch and determining that it was only ten past one, he actually felt a bit bad for whomever was going to end up ingesting the culinary feats put out by that chef. 

Later he would honestly be able to say that it had never crossed his mind that it might have been Alex, even though by now it really should have. 

This wasn't the first time that Strand had stopped by Alex's apartment, but it was the first time that he was forearmed with an invitation. The last time had happened in a sort of ‘fine I’m coming to you to pick up the files because I’m impatient and can’t wait’ way. Or so Alex had deemed it anyway when she had handed him the files through her barely open door. This would be the first time that she’d actually have had him in, and hopefully this time it wouldn’t end with Alex slamming the door behind him because she felt convinced that she needed to make a point. 

Occasionally Strand would admit that she probably did have a right to make a point that evening. Or night, rather. Of course, he had been the one who was running on later time since he’d just returned from Chicago, but that was neither here nor there. Alex had been right in that she should have been allowed to sleep. 

Despite how normally on time he could be, Richard Strand was running a bit late because the last thing that he wanted was to be the first person to arrive so that he needed to find something to amuse himself with while Alex worked on cooking dinner. Alex Reagan could be distractible at the best of times and given some of the (hopefully) joke stories he’d heard from the interns leading up to this dinner, he was quite certain that becoming an inconvenience while she was cooking would only lead to protracting this terrible idea indefinitely. 

What Strand was not prepared for, however, was for the way that the smell of burnt things seemed to get progressively worse and worse the closer he got to Alex’s end of the hallway. It was even worse when he went to knock on the door and discovered that it swung lazily open to allow him to both see and hear what was happening inside. More than once, Richard had made fun of the mess that was Alex’s office at PNWS, with its files and notes everywhere. He had no idea how she could manage to think in there at times (or how he could think in there at times either) but it had never been like this. 

No, the first thing that he noticed was that there was a broom on the ground next to what had once no doubt been one of Alex’s at the time working smoke detectors. From the sheer amount of carnage and the tiny bits of plastic, he could only deduce that Alex had hit it several times with as much force as she could muster. It was probably a good thing too, considering what he noticed as he came into view of her kitchen. 

During over the past year that the two of them had been working together, he had seen Alex Reagan in almost more ways than he could count (more if one counted his bountiful imagination, which he did on occasion) but he had never seen her quite like this. Indeed, he was betting that probably _no one_ had seen her like this and there was a distinct possibility he’d suffered some sort of stroke from the elevator to here. There was no rational way for his brain to process what he was seeing for a minute, even though it offered him a few pieces to attempt to make a complete picture. 

One: Alex was definitely still wearing her pajamas. And they were definitely pajamas in some sort of flannel with stuffed lambs all over them. They were not the sort of pajamas that someone wore in polite company. Richard Strand had been married for over a decade, and he’d had a teenage daughter, and he would definitely put this strictly in the comfort pajama category of being solely for the wearer. It was definitely not something to be seen by someone who wasn't well imitate with the other person. 

Two: currently the wearer of the pajamas who he was _not_ intimate with, was currently kneeling on a counter holding a smoking pan out of the tiny window over the sink. The pan was small and certainly not meant to hold the sheer amount of blackened, smoking, stuff inside of it. When he looked to either side of her, Strand could see that Alex was at least aware that the pan was holding too much, that much was evident by the other two larger pans that held similar wreckage in them. Wincing at the amount of wreckage that the cast iron pan had taken, Richard couldn't help but wonder how Alex had seen that and decided to try again in a different pan. 

But his thoughts were interrupted by the third thing that his mind attempted to show him, this time in the form of audio evidence. Despite what may have been heard on her podcast, Alex Reagan was a human being and sometimes she liked to swear. Given traffic and various things that had happened in their travels, Strand had heard many swear words come out of her mouth. For all of that however, Strand had never heard Alex swear this much, this loudly or in such quick succession. Really, Strand was actually impressed with some of the combinations falling from her lips. 

It almost seemed a shame to waste it, but any minute Alex was going to notice him and he was concerned that the pan might be headed in his general direction. So, keeping his voice mild and the two bottles of quite good wine he'd brought with him as his shield he just asked, “problems?” 

Well, at least Alex didn't throw the pan at him, he would think later. Instead, he watched it slip through her hands and hit the edge of the window. Thankfully all it did was rip the screen and keep it’s burnt contents relatively intact It was a damn good thing because there sitting on the other side of one of the pans the turkey was still sitting there. Raw. At quarter past one in the afternoon. 

He hoped it hadn't been out all that time. 

“Oh my god. Richard!” The way Alex said his name was more high pitched and embarrassed than normal, and she slipped off the counter, very nearly ending up flat on her backside. “What are you doing here? You're so early!” 

It was Strand’s turn to look confused and he looked at his watch. “Actually I'm quite late. Your invitation said twelve thirty.”

“Oh. I forget this is the first time you're in Seattle for the holidays.” The crimson flush that had started in her cheeks was now moving down her neck and across her chest as she looked around the wreck of her kitchen. Strand noticed that the red really brought out the flour on her face and in her hair. “I guess no one told you that invitations like this probably normally mean like two or three hours later. Nic calls it Reagan cooking time.” For a second, Alex forced a laugh and then her eyes went even more round under smudged glasses. 

“Oh my god. Is it really after one. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Oh my _god_.” Strand had seen Alex frightened before but he'd never seen her at this level of sheer panic. In a way it was good to know that there was something other than demons that could send her into a fit like this where things like breaking the law did not. 

With a very long sigh, Strand turned and set the bottles down on the table before he turned back to her. Gesturing to the pans, he just asked. “What was this supposed to be?” 

Well, stopping some of the panic meant that Alex's embarrassment levels rose, and she went pink all over. Really, it was absurd to see just how pink Alex could get in those ridiculous pajamas. “My mom’s stuffing. I don't understand. I've followed the directions exactly. Three times I did it and I screwed it up every time!”

Let it never be said that Richard Strand had no heart, or that he was a bastard all the time because he allowed the comment to pass without any added remark upon it like she couldn't have followed the directions _exactly_ if there was this mess around them. 

Without thinking about it, Strand took off his jacket and placed it over the back of a chair. Alex stared at him for a long moment and wondered if she'd inhaled enough smoke that she'd developed carbon monoxide poisoning or something like that. It was a thought that intensified as Strand undid the buttons on his cuffs and rolled them upwards as well. 

“Turkeys shouldn't be cooked with stuffing in them anyway. We need to get the bird in the oven immediately. Provided it's been suitably thawed, turkey takes between fifteen to twenty minutes in the oven per pound. If we want to eat sometime tonight it needs to be in now. Do you have butter? Some herbs?” 

For a moment the panic was back, along with a lingering desire to kiss him as well. It was not a new feeling Alex Reagan had while dealing with Richard Strand. “It's dethawed. That was the first problem this morning. I had to put it in the tub and change the water every thirty minutes according to google.”

Moving past her, Strand grabbed one of the pans and moved it out of the way so that he could wash his hands with the absurdly scented hand soap that Alex had there. After a moment he touched the turkey, it felt dry and thawed, thankfully. “Well, never let it be said that the internet wasn't worth its weight in gold.” His voice was his normal sarcastic tone and Alex felt quite normal as she rolled her eyes in return even when he chided her once more, “herbs and butter?”

“Cabinet above the stove are what I have for dried ones I guess. I grabbed some sage and rosemary for the dressing and I think there's still some that I haven't turned into ashes.” The word ashes made her look around in dismay and the largest (and thus coolest) put was dragged over to the trash can and she started to scrape it out with a wince so she could pointedly not look at Strand while he was looking in her cupboards. 

It was a good thing too because the look on Richard Strand’s face could only be one of complete dismay. The shelf itself was covered with dust, leaving a box shape void when he picked up the ‘poultry seasoning’ in its fraying box. “Alex,” Strand began mildly, “you do know that even dried herbs have an expiration date, don't you?”

“No they don't. They last forever that's why we have them.” Her chin jutted out at him with that at her brow moved over her glasses in a not so subtle challenge and the overall picture just made Strand give his odd chuffing laughter. 

“You're impossible, Alex Reagan.” The words came almost as if they were drawn without his thinking about it and she just beamed up at him when he said it, height difference, silly pajamas, flour and all. 

“Of course I am. That's why you like me so much.” It was probably too flirty and she knew it, but it felt like a truth especially since he was here trying to attempt to save their thanksgiving and she really needed to focus. 

So right. “I've got butter and sage and rosemary and you can't tell me that salt and pepper and garlic go bad! They're staples.” 

“Garlic is a staple. Garlic powder is an abomination when it comes to good taste unless you dry it and grind it yourself.” Alex could tell he was about to go on when she held up a hand. 

“Easy Hannibal. I don't need a lecture. I'm having a bad morning remember?” Of course with the grin on her face it was hard to remember that. Unless of course one happened to look at the mess around them. 

“I’m going to assume that you mean the cannibal and not the general,” Strand began, ignoring the amused look that no doubt came from him knowing the reference. Of course he would know it, it had been an Oscar-based movie after all. (He would be a bit confused about there being a television show on NBC of all things, though.) “But that’s not important right now. I think I’ll debone the turkey so that it’ll cook faster. You can chop the sage and rosemary for the herb butter we’ll put on top of it.” 

Normally Alex might say something about being delegated to be his sous chef in the same way as some people tended to think of her as his sidekick, but she was too thankful that he was actually helping with the meal rather than just letting her suffer. “The good knife is on the cutting board, Strand. There are some other ones in the drawer right next to it but there’s a reason that I call it my good knife.” 

“You only have one good knife…” He looked at her like he didn’t believe it and Strand was not surprised at all to find that the knife was a chief knife, and it wasn’t even actually a good one as it was. “If I manage to make it through this without substantially harming myself, I may end up believing in miracles after all, Alex.”

The smirk he gave her as he opened up her knife drawer was clearly teasing and Alex was quite glad that she didn't have her recorder out. This was a private moment that she didn't want to explain to her listeners in the slightest. No, this could be their moment and she flashed a grin at him before he pulled out a thin-bladed knife. It wasn't a boning knife but it seemed flexible enough for the job. 

“Perhaps I'll buy you a new set of knives for Christmas,” he mused as he turned the bird so that he could use Alex's good knife to remove the backbone. The knife lacked the heft of a good cleaver but it was better than making the attempt with the smaller one. 

“Or,” Alex counteroffered, “you could do Christmas dinner at your house and get me something that I might actually use on a regular basis.” Her eyes were sparkling as she came up next to him and took the chief’s knife to wash. Somewhere she had found the time to remove some of the flour from her skin. It was a pity really, because he found it more than a little bit endearing. 

“And what would Alex Reagan use on a personal basis?” He asked softly, amusement slipping into his tone. “Something not relating to demons, ghosts, black tapes or being a reporter.” Of course he already had answers for most of those things in the form of ideas from Ruby along with some of his own that he would never discuss with his assistant no matter how relaxed the relationship between the two of them had grown. 

A man’s fantasies should be private for a reason. 

“And” Alex considered, “something not related to skepticism, driving or shitty hotel rooms.” Which removed work entirely really. And now that she thought about it, practically everything that they had in common. While Strand remained quiet and focused on his work and her chopping nearly complete (or so she thought), went to the fridge for the butter and the bottle of wine that she had opened the night before. Not being a complete idiot when it came to such things she removed the wine saver and poured both herself and Richard a glass. 

It was a glass that he looked at suspiciously as he popped the leg out of the turkey socket with a sound that almost made Alex jump. “That didn't come from a box, did it?”

“Wow, Richard what you must think of my taste! I'll have you know that I did a story on wineries, good ones, who are using boxes because it's better for the environment and makes no difference in the taste of the wine. And stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” Strand protested in mock ignorance. 

“Like I'm a five year old telling you that she knows Santa Claus is real and you're humoring me!” The words came with the hand that wasn't holding the wine glass was at her hip and her brow was up in the way that Strand found Alex at her most appealing. There was just something about her when she disagreed with him on something, especially when the something was as small as this was. 

“Well,” he drawled on, “there probably is the same percentage of likelihood that a fat man in a red suit can deliver gifts to all the children in the world in one night as there is that good wine will ever come from a box.” With the turkey deboned, Strand stepped to the sink and washed his hands quickly, frowning at the soap again. 

“You're such a snob,” Alex accused him with a laugh, and she began adding spices to the still rock-hard butter. As she attempted to mash them together Richard watched her with that same amused look he gave her at times when he thought she wasn't looking. 

Ignoring the snob comment, he just reached over and took the bowl from her, standing far too close to her with her back against the counter. “You really are hopeless in the kitchen, Alex Reagan.”

“Then it's a very good thing I have you in my life to help me out with stuff like this, Richard Strand.” Looking up at him with a smug look, Alex refused to move so he could put the bowl in the microwave behind her, causing him to step even closer so he could heat the butter to something approaching a softened state. Their hips were practically touching and Richard just looked down at her for a long minute and saw that she hadn't managed to remove all of the flour after all. Some of the white still lingered on the underside of her chin and jaw, and he reached out and dusted just his fingertips along the line to remove it. Alex just watched him for a second, leaning into his touch without thinking about it. Her lips parted and she started to move her weight to her tip toes when the alarm shrieked behind them causing her to practically jump into his arms. 

That chuffing laughter came again and the spell was broken as he took two steps back, still letting one hand rest on her waist to steady her. At least that's what he told himself. “Sorry.” The word was almost a not-apology and he let go after it, gesturing to the microwave. “Would you..?” The question was left lingering and Alex blinked for a moment before she nodded. 

“Sure.” As she turned, Alex Reagan, host of The Black Tapes podcast began engaging in some very serious self talk in her head and all of it had to do with one thing: Alex you just almost kissed Richard Strand. _Alex you just almost kissed Richard Strand!_ What the hell are you thinking?! What about your journalistic integrity?! He is the subject of your podcast. It would be so unethical to kiss him. 

But damn if he didn't smell good so close to her, and Alex could practically smell the cologne on her from where his clothing touched… her silly pajamas. Oh god she had almost kissed him wearing the stupidest thing she owned as an article of clothing. Maybe this was some hellish sort of dream after all. Composing her face as best she could before she turned around, Alex gave him the best smile one can manage while being entirely mortified on the inside. “Your butter, sir. And now I better go get dressed before other people show up. I'd rather not have the whole world see me in my pjs.”

Before Strand could comment about her pajamas (or the fact that she almost kissed him) Alex was gone with a quickness that only people shorter than he was seemed to have. As he mixed what he could manage to save from Alex's cabinets into the butter, Strand engaged in the pleasurable but tedious work that came with nearly being kissed by a beautiful young woman nearly half his age. First came denial that it actually was a kiss. It really hadn't been that long since Strand had been kissed; oh he didn't do relationships at all, but he did have women his own age whom he met at conventions and had brief and physical periods with. The sex was always sex and both of them knew it but it led to the second thing: semi-belief. 

Nearly every time Richard had been kissed in his life, whether it had meaning or no, the woman in question had looked at him just like that before she had kissed him. Which of course lead to the third thing: questioning whether or not he wanted Alex to kiss him. For Strand that was the easiest part of all of this. He'd wanted to kiss Alex for quite some time but had never been certain how she would react. Clearly he knew now. 

There were of course certain moral and ethical questions about the two of them being involved with one another but Strand was finding more and more as she let him into her life and cared about him and was his friend and even, that he didn't give a damn about that. Really he never had cared for rules when it came to people and he wasn't about to let her podcast become a rule for them now. 

Finishing the turkey and sticking it in the oven (which clearly had been preheating for quite some time), Richard took it upon himself to begin to clean up the mess that she'd made. Starting with scrapping the first pan, he decided that he really was going to never let her cook at his place. Ever. She was a hazard to steel, cast iron and copper in all sorts of varying degrees. 

He'd just placed the bowl he'd used for the butter in the dish strainer with the now clean pans when Alex stepped out of her room. The ends of her hair were still wet from the shower, he could tell that from looking at her French twist, but it was the outfit that really took his breath away. The color was red which was his favorite color on her and it was a wrap dress that clung in every place where it was meant to. He felt horribly undressed and took a sip of his wine in order to hide his reaction. 

Alex just smiled and she'd had time to apply her makeup he noticed before she spoke to him. “Well I guess that's why my shower was cold, huh?” Her chin jutted in the direction of the dishes and Richard looked flustered for a second before he realized she was teasing him. “Thanks for doing them.” Those words were sincere as she picked up the dish towel to dry them. 

“Alex you don't need to do that,” Richard began before she cut him off by opening the cupboard and putting the bowl away.

“And you didn’t need to wash them for me, but you did anyway. I can at least help with the drying if I couldn’t help with the cooking and you beat me to the chance to wash them.” Alex gave him another quick grin, and bumped him with her hip as she picked up the first pan and raised her eyebrows at him, impressed by how quickly he’d gotten the pan clean. If it had been her, she’d have been scrubbing for hours to get all of the gunk out. 

“Family secret,” he answered in response to her look, and gave her what she’d long since deemed his enigmatic smile. Picking up another dishtowel, he grabbed the next pan, and followed her lead to put it away. “So, what else do you need to make for today?” 

Oh, right. Thanksgiving. The American one that they celebrate on the wrong day. Looking around, Alex shrugged. “Well, I was supposed to make the turkey and the stuffing. Geoff is bringing beer and homemade mac and cheese which according to Nic is to die for, and mashed potatoes which are equally good. Allegedly. Sometimes Nic doesn’t have the best taste in food.” Alex didn’t bring up the tea incident because she had promised that she would stop, but he’d still done it. 

Also she'd eaten food that he had cooked and he really didn't have any place to be judging her. Just because something wasn't burnt didn't mean it was well cooked if it tasted bad. 

“He didn't know what he was bringing last time I checked but I haven't checked my phone recently. Amalia is picking up pies from the bakery that she knows and I think the interns are pooling their resources to bring rolls and green bean casserole.” Surprisingly Strand looked both interested and appalled at the mentions of what the interns were bringing. 

Green Bean casserole was his _favorite_ when he was a kid, and he’d not had it in ages as Coralee had deemed it too unrefined, and he wasn’t much for Thanksgiving since she’d disappeared. 

But that lead to another different point. “You didn't tell me that the interns were going to be here, Alex.” There was no denying the accusation in his voice and he just stared at her over the rim of his glasses. 

Unlike before with the cooking, Alex just stared back. “They're students who couldn't afford to go home for the holiday, Richard. Would you really deny them a home cooked meal and some taste of family just because you don't like them?”

“Alex you know it goes well beyond that, they look at me like they half-expect me to eat them or like I've gone crazy and it's contagious!”

Well, there was no denying his last accusation. The interns did think the craziness around Richard and Coralee Strand _was_ contagious and Alex had caught it from him when he had come back with what they had determined as his ‘Unabomber chic” look. Even when Richard had returned to normal and retired the flannel, they had still kept it up. Alex didn't need to tell him that though; he had heard enough of it himself. 

“Richard, I understand if you're angry about this. You don't like them and they don't like you. That doesn't mean you need to ruin a perfectly good holiday over it. I've told them the same thing. If anyone asks like an idiot I will ask them to leave.”

“Dislike them? Alex you know that this goes far beyond that for all of us. They hate me. They glare at me, I am here making an effort…”

Before Strand got to finish explaining what he was making an effort for, there was a soft knock at the door. Both of them turned to glare at the person who opened it and disrupted their fight. Thankfully it wasn't the recently mentioned interns. Instead it was Geoff van Sant looking sheepish and carrying two large Tupperware containers over a case of beer from a local microbrewery. “Uh, am I interrupting something?”

“No.” Alex said at the same time that Richard said “yes” and met the man with a glare. He could only conclude that this was the aforementioned Geoff who was bringing the potatoes and macaroni and cheese. At least it wasn't the interns, he thought with a sneer. But their argument wasn't over. 

With a glare to Richard’s sneer, Alex went to the door and her other guest. “Here let me take some of that from you.” Reaching out, she grabbed the containers and smiled up at him. “I've heard good things about this stuff from Nic.” 

He blushed when she mentioned his boyfriend and quickly responded, “he's coming with Amalia. You know how long it can take her to get ready.” After the mention of his and Nic’s girlfriend, he glanced to Strand. “Are you really sure I'm not interrupting?” 

“Yes.” The word came with emphasis as Strand said her name. Holding up one hand to him (which she knew would bother him, and it did which of course was why she did it) she added to Geoff, “ make yourself comfortable and put the game on. We'll be right back.” 

When her second guest nodded and looked more than a little uncomfortable, Alex turned to Strand who was heading towards the open kitchen and his coat. “No.” The word was an order and he stared at her because of it, but he did pause. “We are _not_ done discussing this, Richard.” She was using the same firmness in her tone that she had when she had first hung up on him and Strand realized that it was probably a bad sign. 

Sighing, he followed her down a small hallway that he realized led to her bedroom. Well, this was unexpected. Richard Strand had pictured himself going into Alex's bedroom a good many times but he didn't think that he would ever be doing it under this circumstances! Nor was he about to be lectured too like he was a schoolboy taken out into the hall for punishment. Anger overran his curiosity when he entered a room that was very blue and very filled with books. Without meaning too, his eyes scanned over the ones that were closest to the bed on the nightstand. 

There were some silly looking novels that he assumed were currently envogue now and that she never had time to read given work. But most surprising to him were the two books that were very close to the top of the pile. They were his, and judging from the condition of the spine, Alex had either read them more than once, or had bought them second hand. Given who Alex was, either could be likely and before he could come up with a response to seeing them, Alex was standing in front of her nightstand attempting unsuccessfully to block his vision of the shelf with her hip. (Which of course gave him leave to stare at her hip for a moment before she cleared her throat.)

“You should have told me, Alex. If I had known that they were coming I never would have accepted your invitation. I have no inclination to sit across from a trio of girls who think that simply because their comments are snide I can’t hear them. And I certainly wouldn’t have helped cook a meal that they would partake in!”

“I don’t recall asking you to help, Dr. Strand. You’ll notice when I want your help because I will ask you for it. You’re the one who decided to do it! You can’t blame me for something that you decided to do!” She was angry now, and the color in her face was matching her dress as she glared at him with dark eyes. As had been for a while now, Alex was no longer worried about meeting his eyes when she was angry, and this was certainly one of those occasions. Right now, this isn't about The Black Tapes, or his cases or even his god damned ex-wife, this was about the real world, where she was trying to be his friend. 

Being his friend was quite hard work, when Strand responded in the way that he normally did: with the inclination to pick up his ball and go home. “If you no longer require my help, Miss Reagan, then I’ll take my leave of you.” 

Alex tried a different approach, and she stepped closer to him, catching the sleeve above his tattoo. Which she would certainly need to think about later. But for now, she just spoke his name softly, “Richard…” This time, when her eyes met his, she was trying to keep the anger and frustration out of them. Someone needed to be the calm one in this situation, and it was wrong Thanksgiving, god damn it! “I know that they’ve given you a hard time, and I should have been more proactive on that, but they’re _kids_. Would you really deny kids who couldn’t afford to head home for the holiday a good meal?”

Strand had been about to interrupt her when she said that, because this was an argument that she’d made already unsuccessfully, and he wasn’t about to listen to it again. But then, as she so often did, Alex knew where to hit Richard where it hurt and how to lay waste to the iron shield that always seemed to turn to glass when she was around. “Wouldn’t you want someone to do the same for Charlie, even if she was being a bratty asshole?” 

Breathing for a moment, he stared down at her fingers, one of which brushed his skin and the other brushed the cotton of his shirt. Not for the first time today, he found his gaze returning to her lips. Then he let out a huffing sigh. “Miss Reagan, you do not play fair in any capacity, do you?” His exasperated tone was only made worse by the quick grin that lit up her face. 

“Nope. And you wouldn’t be here if I did, now would you?” It was an easy answer for him, though he did not use it so colloquy. No, he wouldn’t be here if she followed the rules and didn’t make eleven calls and didn’t lie to get back into his office, and didn’t record his conversations and help him when he was going crazy with trying to find Coralee. He certainly wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t smiled that smile that she was wearing now, and hadn’t forced food down his throat when he was barely eating. 

There were times when he was worried that he wouldn’t even be here in the sense of alive and breathing were it not for her. Sometimes it seemed like the spotlight of the podcast kept Warren and whoever else from attempting to intervene more in his life than they already did. He was in fact grateful for that, even if it wasn’t an emotion he often showed to anyone, let alone Alex Reagan and her audience. 

“Besides, I’ll protect you from their being idiots, I promise.” There was a little bit of a plea mixed in with the lightness of her tone, and her eyes sparkled beneath her glasses before he did something he’d been thinking about since she first walked into his office with her recorder and the smile that she was giving him now, he put a piece of loose hair behind her ear. And he did think about the comment that she had made about Charlie, about how he would want someone to make sure that she could have a good meal even if he wasn’t with her family at the holiday. Of course, she may not consider him family any longer, but he would still be a father _her_ father, until the day that he died. 

“Alright.” The word was a sigh, and he watched her hopeful expression turn into the broad grin that he so rarely saw these days when she didn’t sleep and when she was worried about him. In that moment, Richard Strand knew how much he missed that grin, and the warmth that moved ever so slowly in his glacial chest when she made it. He wanted her to make that grin every time she saw him, and he wanted that grin to be a reflex to hearing his voice like he hoped that it once might have been. 

Without even thinking about it, his hand moved to her hip again, and this time, he leaned in and kissed her gently. The kiss was a question, and he put both of his hopes and his doubts in it as his other hand brushed the back of her neck, drawing her in closer so that she could form against him in all of the ways that he’d always expected her to fit. Of course they shouldn’t be doing it, but there was something that was always quite human about wishing to engage in something that could be considered forbidden…

Strand could almost practically feel Alex telling him to shut up when she began to kiss him back, moving on her tiptoes to make it so that he didn’t need to bend over so far over to meet her. One of her hands moved into hair that was just ever so slightly in need of a haircut, and she was glad that he’d given up his beard because she’d never kissed a man with a beard before. (Yes, she knew in a city of hipsters it was rare, but most of them weren’t her type.) 

No, Alex’s type was older men with a bit of mystery and a broken heart, and a voice that practically made her dripping wet when he spoke her name. (Though the mystery, broken heart and good voice tended to be gender non-specific in terms of her attractions.) Nic had teased her more than once in college and called it her ‘daddy issues’ but she didn't care: she knew what she liked and she had liked him for almost two years now. 

Strand deepened the kiss, the hesitation slipping into forcefulness for a moment as he teased his tongue against her lips until she opened for him. The sigh that she gave him then would have made him grin if her hands hadn't tightened around him and molded her body more firmly to his own. Without thinking about it now (he definitely would think of it much later when his muscles screamed at him for doing something better left to younger men) Richard used the hands around her hips as leverage to lift her and carry her the few steps to her unmade bed. 

He made it, but barely, and Alex’s hips brushed the top of her bed before she caught him and pulled him tumbling against her before they could both hit the floor with an audible thud that Geoff might hear. Alex wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest, but the last thing that she wanted was Nic’s boyfriend to come in when she was in the middle of kissing the subject of her podcast. 

They really should have locked the door. 

But Alex tasted like the wine that she had been drinking earlier, and though he wouldn’t admit it to her right now, it might have been the best thing that he’d ever tasted when mixed with her lipstick and coffee and the hundred other things that made Alex _Alex._ She was kissing him back and his hands were wandering to her hips once more while hers moved from his back to his hair once more. Pulling back for air was no longer optional at that point, and he just stared down at her and her smile, reaching up to touch a piece of her hair that had come loose from the clip that was holding it back. 

Seeing that, Alex let out a little yelp because there was no doubt that her hair was entirely a mess and she was just glad that her lipstick was smudge-proof and that Richard wasn’t wearing it. Her hand reached up to try and shove the strands back before he just spoke softly. “Leave it? I like your hair better down anyway.” Had he done anything but ask, Alex might have said something, but instead she shifted underneath him to lift her head and caught the clip and pulled it out so that her hair flopped loose. Oh, it would be a _mess_ when she went out to dinner, but that was _later_ Alex’s problem, not her’s right now. 

Strand let out a soft sigh and he tangled his hand through her hair like he had done so many times in his fantasies, and he laughed softly when he found it to still be a bit damp. Alex laughed too, and she just leaned over and whispered in his ear. “I promise it’ll be fine later.” _Later_. Strand found the word itself laced with promise, and he shivered delightedly. It was a shiver that only increased when Alex kissed the sensitive flesh behind his ear softly. 

When she pulled back, Richard couldn’t help but to kiss her again, this time starting off deeply, his hand still in his hair. Groaning into the kiss, he opened his eyes so that he could watch her with her eyes closed, and he pulled back to drop kisses along her chin and then along the neckline of her dress. Things might have gone farther then if there hadn’t been the shrill sound of the doorbell ringing, and the sound of Nic’s voice calling “Alex?” 

“Shit. Fuck. Shit.” Strand just looked down at Alex in a bemused fashion as she looked like she was going to strangle her best friend and producer when the two of them finally reached the living room. Letting out a long sigh, she just called out. “One minute!”

“Now Alex,” Strand began, taking on the lecturing tone that he did so very often on their podcast, “I know you think I’m old but isn’t one minute just a tad pessimistic, even for you?” Alex broke into giggles and smothered them against his neck until they subsided. Of course, it was hard for them to get there with the way that he kept running his fingers down the side that he was delighted to find was ticklish. 

Alex was very ticklish, especially with the thin fabric of the dress creeping upwards with each pass that he made along her side. The pale skin of her thighs was visible now, and when he pulled back, Richard caught a small glimpse of her white lacey thong, and it was enough for the atheists to offer outa hissed, “ _Christ_.” Well, she had definitely compensated for the silly pajamas earlier, hadn’t she?  
But Alex just laughed softly. “Meundies, remember? Sexy underwear.” She was almost as red as her dress, but honestly, she was glad that they’d sent her a few pairs for situations just like this one. Not that she’d pictured this one exactly. At least not more than a hundred times or so. 

But her words brought that chuffing laugh to him again, and he just shook his head. “Please don’t ever say that to me again, Alex.” That said, his fingers brushed across the lace band for a moment before he pressed his lips to the long line of her neck, drawing a moan from her. Of course the moment was ruined by hearing Nic’s voice coming down the hallway. 

“Alex? Are you okay?” 

“Damn it, how does that man always seem to have the exact sense of timing to be in the way?” Strand’s soft hiss comes directly next to her ear and it makes her shiver and press up to him in a way that she really should be attempting to avoid right now. 

She pressed her face to his shoulder for a moment before she whispered with a promise: “Later.” And then she added with a grin as he pulled away from her. “If you’re good.” Her hand stroked the side of his face for a moment before the strange laughter of his came again. 

“Alex, don’t you know I’m rarely good simply because someone tells me to be?” He nuzzled her cheek again, because now that he had the permission to do it, there was two years of touching that they needed to make up for. 

“What about asking really nicely and promising to make it up to you?” Her fingers brushed along the front of his shirt, before he kissed her again, just breathing her name before he stepped away from her and the bed. It barely gave Alex enough time to pull down her dress before Nic opened the door. 

“Uh, everything okay in here?” Nic’s voice was concerned, as his eyes flicked from Alex to Richard and back.

“We do _not_ require any assistance.” Strand dismissed Nic as he always had, and his blank stare just met the questioning one of Alex’s friend and producer. To Strand, however, he was nothing more than just the man who did the research that Alex and he used. He didn’t have a personal attachment to him in the slightest, but he was tolerated for his usefulness and for Alex’s sake.

“We’re fine. We had a little disagreement is all.” Alex smiled to Nic and shrugged, because it wasn’t a lie. “But everything’s okay now. Come on, if nothing else…” And then Alex took a deep breath. “Did you really bring chinese food, Nic?” There was a soft accusation in her voice, and her friend shrugged. 

“I have had thanksgiving with you before, Alex. I know how your cooking can be, so I thought it was better to be prepared. It’s just a couple of big things of house lo mein, one of veggie and some egg rolls.” Alex just sighed and Richard just stared between them as the doorbell rang again. 

“Fine, but actually Strand got the bird started for me so if you don’t want to it it…” Alex led the two of them out into the living room where Amalia and Nic were joined by the three interns, the green bean casserole and a large amount of wine. 

All and all, it was the strangest Thanksgiving that Strand had ever been to: turkey, reheated chinese food, sides that were actually as good as they were given credit for (yes, even the intern’s green bean casserole, though he made sure to see Alex and Nic try it before he did, just in case) a fair amount of laughter, and through it all, Alex’s hand occasionally wrapping around his own underneath the table. That alone made everything else worth it.


End file.
